It’s been an incredibly fun, challenging, inspiring, exhausting 18 months – and I don’t regret one second.

Learning to juggle what is effectively two full time jobs (I’m self-employed) alongside motherhood, a relationship with my husband, seeing my friends, drinking wine and waving a wet-wipe at the dust in my house has been – at all times – eye-opening.

I’ve experienced the tiredness that can only come with getting up at 3.45am every morning, commuting 45 minutes to work, coming home, looking after a demanding toddler, working until 10.30pm and doing it all again the next day. And I’ve survived. More than survived actually – I’ve enjoyed it.

People who work in radio often joke that “there’s nothing like radio”. Truth is, when I left my permanent job in radio to go on maternity leave with my little bundle, I didn’t really miss it. I had achieved all the challenges I set myself in that job and I was ready for a new phase in my life.

It wasn’t until I started covering as a freelancer that I caught the (so-called) “radio bug” again. I remembered what it feels like to suddenly look at the clock and realise you’ve spent four hours laughing and chatting without even realising it. I remembered how good it is to make people feel happy, simply by talking about something or playing a tune on the radio. I was hooked again.

It’s a great medium to work in and I’m sure I’ll miss the daily banter and the ridiculous things I got up to while in the studio. But I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to take life at a bit more of a “normal” pace and discover evenings with my husband again.

I’m not saying that’s it for me and radio. The door is not closed. I still love it and I know I’ll go back. I’m lucky enough to have worked as a presenter, journalist, researcher and producer in my career so far, and I know I’ll return to one of these roles again in the future.

But, for now, I’m going to concentrate on my other work projects that will see me writing and editing full time, from home. I’m going to enjoy taking my toddler to nursery myself, before settling her into a new pre-school in our new home 200 miles away in Devon. I’m going to just be, without the rushing from one thing to another at 100 miles an hour.

When you’re self-employed, it’s easy to take on every project that’s thrown at you. And when you have a financial target in mind, it’s easy to forget to give yourself a bit of breathing space. I don’t want to make that mistake so, for now, I’m setting my sights on a couple of pretty huge and exciting writing projects, which I will be working on from home.

Oh – and I also have the small task of finding a temporary home to rent for the next few months while we buy a house in the idyllic corner of Devon that we have set our heart on.

Wish me luck – I think I’m going to need it!

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Not successful enough? Not rich enough? Not achieved enough in your career? Not been a good enough parent or partner?

Because I get that. All the time.

I got a postcard from my mum today. She titled it “Bringing Home The Bacon” and put a note on the back, reminding me that it’s important to be ambitious but not to the point where you set yourself targets you can’t reach. She is wise.

Still.

I can’t seem to battle the feeling I’m not doing ENOUGH at the moment. Before Christmas, I blogged about my huge workload and battle to get everything done. I wrote last month about a lack of balance and shared recently that things have started to even out a bit. I’m working less and relaxing more.

Still.

There’s always a voice in my head that whispers “Do MORE!”. I feel like I should blog more, better. I should pitch more, to bigger publications, better. I should be actively seeking out more broadcasting work, touting myself more. I should be, just, well, BETTER.

A better mum, a better writer, a better presenter, a better wife. I look around my Twitter feed and see a string of successful people. Surely I can’t be the ONLY person to occasionally get a pang of career envy or mother envy or just, sheer self-doubt, as I kick myself for not trying harder?

I’ve always been this way. As a kid at school, I’d get an A grade and instantly feel cross with myself that it wasn’t an A*. Or at university, I’d write a piece for the student newspaper or do a stint of work experience at a radio station and feel dissatisfied. It wasn’t enough that I’d done something more than my studies, I would scold myself for not being the one student in the year to be picked out for a job before they’d even graduated.

I don’t think being a woman helps. I constantly question if I’m being a good enough mum to my toddler, if I’m around enough, if I give her enough attention and arrange enough one-to-one activities for her. I battle with a constant pile of laundry and unmade beds and dusty carpets, cross with myself that I haven’t stayed up an extra hour to get it all done. I know my husband doesn’t worry about these things.

And that takes me back to the being good enough issue – I’m not a good enough homemaker (or whatever we call it in the UK). Basically, I’m rubbish at housework.

The share it all society that we now live in doesn’t help particularly. I live in a world of Facebook and Twitter, emails and text messages. Not a day passes when another person’s success, big news, exciting project or motherhood win isn’t posted in my face. We are connected with so many people, so much of the time, that simple maths concludes we will regularly witness these kinds of triumphs. This is positive – of course it is – but it’s also negative, if you’re having a bad day. On days like these it can make you feel like a bit of a failure if you don’t have big news of your own to shout about.

On this occasion, I’ve decided to take my mum’s advice. Like I said, she is wise. I’m going to remain ambitious in every area of my life, but I’m going to be pleased and satisfied with the small wins too. I don’t think we shout enough about the small wins – the ORDINARY stuff. I need to start feeling successful again.

So, my small win of the day: I made a pancake without it breaking up into a mound of rubbery gunge. Granted, not IMMEDIATELY…

But I had it down to a tee after the fourth attempt.

What’s your ordinary win of the day? And do you ever feel like you’re not good enough? I know I can’t be the only one…

The post When “good” isn’t good enough appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I’ve worked as a presenter on a breakfast radio show since January and since that time we’ve had a few childcare emergencies. In each case, Frog hasn’t been particularly poorly. Either it’s been a cold or a cough or her childminder hasn’t been able to take her because of her own little boy being ill. Today was the first time I’ve been pulled completely in two.

I always promised myself that when I took on a contract that saw me working away from home for part of the day, I wouldn’t let it compromise my number one job: being a mum.

Yes there are occasions when I’m tired and stressed but I try not to let my toddler see it. Of course it’s not ideal that I’m not there when she wakes up in the morning, but she gets me all afternoon and I tell myself it could be a lot worse.

Until last night, the tough decision of taking a day off work due to my child’s illness has not been one I’ve had to make. Either the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine has been able to take a day off work or my mum has been a hero and driven a four hour drive up the motorway to help us. Last night was different though. Last night Frog needed her mum.

As my two year old retched in her bed, waking from a deep sleep to be violently sick, I felt like crying. As she wailed that she was, “Scared Mummy”, I whispered to her that everything was going to be OK while desperately Googling her symptoms. From 8pm last night until 6am this morning my child was vomiting every 10 minutes. By 3am there was nothing left, but she couldn’t stop gagging. She was so exhausted by that point that she could barely lift her head. She just nuzzled against me, whimpering that she was frightened and that she needed a cuddle. I melted.

Although my parents (by some massive stroke of fate) were here to visit yesterday, I knew I couldn’t leave. Regardless of the fact I was in no state to drive the 50 minute commute to work having had no sleep, I couldn’t leave my baby vomiting and crying for me. I physically couldn’t be apart from her.

So at 3am I made a phone call, sent three text messages and whizzed off an email. Having had conversations the night before to warn the worst could be about to happen and I may not make the show, I was comforted at least by the fact my failure to turn up wasn’t going to be a total surprise. But I felt awful. I felt like an awful mum for even considering leaving my very poorly child and I felt like an unprofessional woman, living up to the stereotype of unreliability that so many working mothers battle against.

The rest of the day has been spent negotiating extreme tiredness from a total lack of sleep and trying to field emails and meet work deadlines that I wasn’t able to fulfill last night, as I was caring for my sick child. All the while, carrying my toddler – who has only eaten half a piece of bread all day and managed to drink one cup of water – and dishing out mummy cuddles that she’s so badly needed.

This is when being a working mum sucks. The plain truth of the matter is that no one else would do today. Last night my toddler needed her mum and today was no different. Even her father, who she dotes on, was not good enough. Cuddles from me were the only thing that would make it all better. And who am I to deny her that? I’d be failing my job dismally if I batted away my sick child’s need for maternal comfort in favour of my inbox.

But I still feel like I failed. I guess sometimes it’s just not possible to do it all. Is it?

My little girl last night, only accepting a cuddle from her granddad once she had fallen asleep in my own arms.

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Where I blog

I’m going to break a self-imposed rule. I’m going to blog about blogging.

Indulge me, just for this one post. Please?

Right, if you’re still here (Mum, there’s no obligation to keep reading, this probably won’t interest you) then I’d like to pose a little question:

How do you define blogging success?

It’s a question that’s been on my mind a bit recently, on the commute to work and back again, floating at the edge of consciousness in between singing along to Carly Rae Jepsen on the radio (don’t judge me).

I suppose with the latest shortlist of awards announced and a huge conference this weekend, it was inevitable I’d come to write about this sooner or later.

First of all, let me explain something about blogging to those of you who don’t blog. It’s a bit addictive. It’s very satisfying. It can be rather lonely. It can get too noisy. It’s not easy to pin down.

No one really knows how “big” blogging will be, or how it will change now it’s started spilling over and merge with mainstream media. It’s a bit like sitting on the edge of a huge wave, right before it peaks and crashes onto the beach. You can’t yet tell how big the wave is going to be.

There are many, MANY, different blogs out there. Some gain hundreds of thousands of readers a month, some have led their authors on to totally different careers, some inspire, some educate, some ramble and some win awards. Lots of them.

But how do you define a successful blogger?

This time last year I had only just set out on my blogging journey. I was shortlisted for two different awards, every time someone commented on my blog I felt a thrill of excitement and I had just met my first “blogging buddy” in real life, who is now a very good friend.

I felt new, inspired, like an empty sketchbook waiting to be drawn all over.

Now, just over a year on and my blog has changed my life. I owe a large part of my new radio career to it. I also earn money writing because of it. It’s led to a family glamping holiday this summer and many lovely new products to fill our tiny cottage.

But I still don’t feel “successful”.

I don’t know if this is because that’s the nature of blogging. It’s such a wonderfully huge and diverse world, full of wonderfully huge and diverse personalities, all writing and creating wonderfully huge and diverse content, that you never really feel like you’ve “made it” as such. Or I don’t anyway.

It could be my own “ambition”, driving me forward. I’ve never been content to sit and take stock of what I’ve achieved. Nothing’s ever enough. I’m onto the next big thing, chasing down the next big project / show idea / blog post / feature. It’s exhausting and I wish I was able to slow down a bit, but that’s just not me.

So is success in blogging about topping the various rankings sites? Is it about finding and hosting a really popular linky or meme or inspiring other bloggers to blog about your idea? Is it about winning awards or being nominated and shortlisted for awards? Is it about earning money or the amount of free stuff you can get?

I don’t know if it’s about any of these things really. Not for me anyway.

Of course I want people to read. And good stats are an indication that people ARE reading. And I love when people comment. It’s immediate feedback – just as when a listener texts in the radio show or someone writes on our Facebook page.

If people are engaging with your content it shows you’re striking a chord somewhere, with someone. If that stuff didn’t matter then why blog at all? You may as well just keep a private diary.

But again, I don’t think stats and comments and the like are a measure of blogging success. Some of my favourite posts from other bloggers haven’t garnered a huge number of comments. And some are so new they can’t have a huge following, not yet.

So I’m back to the beginning. Which is why I need you to help me out. Just think about it for a second, will you? And tell me, how do you define blogging success?

The post How do you define blogging success? appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

This was a chilli pepper growing in my garden last week, before my feisty 21 month old daughter decided to decapitate it.

I thought it was a fitting way to begin this next chapter of my blogging career, as a symbol of hope and new beginnings. Actually, it’s a pretty bloody rubbish symbol because I’ve had to chuck it in the bin, but the thought’s still there.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say, is that it’s time for a change. Spring has sprung, my work life is picking up pace and I now need my blog to reflect that. So, here I am. Over at my sparkly new self-hosted site.

What this move means to you if you’re a regular reader:

You’ll need to resubscribe either via email or RSS feed to THIS site. If you don’t then you won’t automatically be updated when I publish a new post.

What this move means to you if you’re a PR company:

I can now offer advertising on Mother’s Always Right, along with sponsored posts. If you’d like to work with me, you can find out more details on my PR and Advertising page.

Other than that, nothing’s changed. Frog is still 21 months old. She’s still not walking. She still has tantrums. And I still like wine on a Friday night.

Some things will remain the same forever.

The post New beginnings appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I have no idea how or when this happened, but it hit me today.

After waking in an inexplicably foul mood, I decided to vent my frustration and do “something productive”. I could have done any number of things to alleviate my grumpiness: Drunk wine, Googled Gary Barlow, watched Jeremy Kyle. So what did I choose?

Cleaning.

Yes, that famous mood-enhancing act of cleaning the bathroom. And as I scrubbed the bath and polished the shower screen, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Even getting down and dirty with the toilet brought a smile to my face.

And that’s when it dawned on me. I am my Gran.

Not that I’m saying my Gran (“Nana” to you and I) gets a sadistic kick out of cleaning toilets. It’s just that I always imagine her at her happiest while bustling about doing something domestic. But that’s not how I picture myself.

Since having Frog, many things have changed. I’m at home more now. I recently quit my job to begin freelancing, but I’m still officially on maternity leave. I’m in a no-man’s land of work and home, maternity leave and work. I still see myself as a “career woman”, but actually, at the moment, that isn’t really who I am.

So I suppose cleaning helped me feel like I was doing something productive. I may not have won a Sony Gold this week or written a feature in a national publication, but at least my toilet’s clean.

*Sigh*

And then I noticed my daughter watching me cleaning. She had a perplexed look on her face, as if to say “what the hell are you doing Mother?” (Clearly, the sight of me with a duster is a rarity).

I began to ponder her future, what she’ll decide to do when she’s all grown up, like me. Will she have a high-powered job? Will she be a mum? Will she become a domestic goddess?

And as I turned on the hoover I got my answer, a loud scream signalling Frog’s new Vacuum Phobia. The look of pure fear on her face said it all: Me? Domestic goddess? No chance!

That’s my girl.

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I…. (wait for it)…..

Handed my notice in at work.

*Gasp*

See, I told you I wasn’t a drama queen.

Anyway, it’s been a pretty big deal for me. I’ve always loved my job and, when I was pregnant, I just assumed I would go back. But after much deliberation and calculation of childcare costs, I realised it just didn’t make sense.

So I’ve decided to go freelance. I know, I know, you’re very pleased because this means I’m finally available to work for you. Don’t all rush to book me at once. There’s plenty to go around.

But I do have a plan B. If the freelancing doesn’t work out I’m going to aim for a career change. And, because this all ties in very nicely with this week’s Listography theme of what we want to be when we grow up, I thought I would share my options with you:

1. The sixth member of Take That: Because Gary Barlow’s been hankering after me to join the group for ages. Good news Gary, I’m finally available.

2. A ballet dancer: Because I look rather fetching in a tutu. The big frills hide the old love handles.

3. A spa-tester: Because I really am very good at testing Jacuzzis and saunas. There’s a gap in the market for this sort of thing don’t you know.

4. A professional wine buff: Because I drink enough of the stuff to know the difference between red and white. And I think I’d do a brilliant little segment on Saturday Kitchen, especially if I wore my tutu and sang a bit of Pray.

What do you want to be when you grow up? Read the rest of this week’s entries at Manana Mama (she’s really rather funny). And no, I’m not drunk (for once). She’s hosting it for Kate at Kate Takes 5 this week.

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